


alone (I weep my outcast state)

by dragoncreek319



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Gen, No beta we die like bob, Post-Episode: s03e08 The Battle of Starcourt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:15:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25487590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragoncreek319/pseuds/dragoncreek319
Summary: He’d walked till the inky night had turned to a feeble grey and finally to a soft yellow. He’d walked until the birds had quietened and the wind had died, only to pick up again. He’d walked until Mrs.Buckley had gone from fishing for answers to hugging her child. The night had been terrible, but the day was perfect. He dragged his tired feet in the direction of the overhead phone lines. In the direction of home. Nothing could ruin this day.Except the car sitting in his driveway.
Relationships: Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	alone (I weep my outcast state)

The green on the trees seemed to be brighter than usual, the leaves sagging a bit with the added weight of the water from last night’s light downpour. The sky looked as if someone had run a sepia filter through it, much like one did in photographs from when one couldn’t afford colour but didn’t want to settle for black and white either. The wind whistled in his ears (read:ear) and even the incessant ringing coming from somewhere couldn’t ruin the scene. There were no birds to speak of, even they’d had the common sense to not stay around. Everything was perfect with the world.

He kicked a stray stone away from him and followed its path. Steve would’ve twirled a bit and flamboyantly bowed down to retrieve it, had he been able to trust his balance. The wind was slowing down almost imperceptibly and the smell of rain left a hopeful aftertaste in his mouth. He looked up to see the overcast clouds sighing under their burden and wished for the rain to flood his senses, to drown him in a problem different from his own. He wished for the water to seep through his clothes, and soak him fully. He wished for wet med to make his boots squelch so that he could go home and try to scrape it off. That would amount to about 15 minutes. 

Steve laughed, the kind where someone has to do more than just smile through the pain. He’d get maybe 15 minutes of ‘take-his-mind-off-it’ time. Maybe. The walk from the mall to his home wasn’t a long one, but with his thoughts being his only company (the stones were a bit....quiet), it seemed so. Everyone else had their parents come pick them up, but the real ‘shoot him in the chest’ kind of pain came from seeing Robin’s folks. They’d marched right up to them, their hurried walks an embodiment of the worry they’d seemed to exude in _waves._

Mrs.Buckley was a no-nonsense woman, who’d demanded a straight answer the second she’d spotted them.

Mr.Buckley was plain concerned. His anxiety had however not seemed to rub off on his wife.

He was all _“What’s wrong honey?”_

And “ _Are you okay?”_

And “ _Steve, right? That looks like it hurts.”_ He could’ve cried right there. He thinks he did. He doesn’t remember.

Last night - or this night really, time was tricky- was something he couldn’t forget no matter how hard he tried. Mrs.Beyers ( _call me Joyce_ ) had come bearing bad news. Really bad news. Steve should’ve noticed from the drop of her shoulders and the tears streaking her face, shining in the moonlight. Instead he’d been listening on in someone else’s conversations. 

“ _Robin_?”

” _I’m fine, mom.”_ Lie number one.

 _“Not what I asked.”_ Mrs.Buckley crossed her arms, and Steve couldn’t help but wonder how she’d been not tempted to do so before. Her small-ish stature allowed him to look down on her but in his mind’s eye, he longed to be small again. To be held through the scraped knees like his nanny had done once, when he’d fallen off his bike. Or to have hands wipe away the tears like his cousin had done when a kid had been mean to him in the park. 

Robin looked at him for answers. Her face said _‘should I tell them about the Russians?’_ And his had said right back ‘ _yes, tell your parents that we were kidnapped by Russians, that were incompetent, really because somehow we managed to escape. Doesn’t sound crazy at all.’_ He’s not sure whether the message got across well, accounting for his severely, colourfully bruised face, because she’d opened her mouth with a “this Russian guy-“ Steve shut her off.

” _We got caught in the fire. Had to help get the kids out and something fell on us.”_

_”Doesn’t explain your face.”_

_”School fight.”_

_”It’s summer.”_ Shit.

_”Well, coupla kids from school that don’t like me.”_

_”Attacked you in front of the whole mall?”_

_”Behind the theatre.”_

_”What happened to_ her _face, then?”_

 _”She tried to help.”_ Mrs.Buckley tsk-ed and shook her head. “ _How many times do I have to tell you to stay out of other people’s fights?”_

 _”Ma, do you_ see _his face? I had to do something!”_ Robin answered. This seemed like a fight they’d had many times before. Anytime now, the government would be at their throats with their NDAs and Steve hadn’t wanted to do it all again. He’d felt a little bad, leaving Robin to deal with this alone (with her parents) for the first time, but neither of them were going to tell anyone about the Russians. That was one less problem he had. So he’d left. Just, walked out, ignoring Dustin’s distant “atleast stay until Dr.Owens gets here. Steve!“

He’d walked till the inky night had turned to a feeble grey and finally to a soft yellow. He’d walked until the birds had quietened and the wind had died, only to pick up again. He’d walked until Mrs.Buckley had gone from fishing for answers to hugging her child. The night had been terrible, but the day was perfect. He dragged his tired feet in the direction of the overhead phone lines. In the direction of home. Nothing could ruin this day.

_Except the car sitting in his driveway._

Steve rushed forward, trying to get his aching legs to walk as fast as they could. The gate was closed and he had to pry it open, an action which normally wouldn’t have done anything, that sparked a new wave of pain and exhaustion in every muscle in his body. Even that one. 

He dragged his tired shell of a body to the car, his parents nowhere in sight. All the lights were off. They hadn’t bothered to even _try_ to look for their son, who was decidedly _not at home_. Steve could imagine the conversation.

 _“Oh Jamie, wherever is he?”_ His mom would ask in her fake-high voice with her fake concern.

” _Hm?”_

_”Steven. He’s not home.”_

_”Hell if I know. He just better not be reported missing, we’ll never live that down.”_ His dad would respond, eyes not leaving the newspaper. Never leaving the newspaper. He couldn’t miss out, despite it being night. 

_”I could call up Linda. Maybe Karen?”_ She’d ask, despite having made up her mind already. “ _Oh, best not. It’s very late. Maybe in the morning.”_

She’d leave for bed and sleep in her room. His dad would fold up the newspaper, sigh, remove his glasses, rub his eyes and go to his room at the opposite end of the house.   
  


Steve looked at the car, much more expensive than anyone else’s in the town. Except Carol’s, maybe. He leaned on it, resting his arms on the roof, positioning his pounding head between them. He sucked in a breath, one that rattled his battered rib cage and tied his stomach in knots. How he wished he hadn’t walked home. He wished that he’d stayed there, cooperated, gone to the hospital like everyone (Dustin and Robin) had asked him to. He wished that he’d sat and inhaled the ammonia of the hospital rather than the intoxicating roses of his mother’s perfume. And he still wished for the rain to _pour_. Maybe then, he wouldn’t look like he’d been crying all this time.

He lifted his head, ready to face the music, when his hands came away wet, despite the air being damp, at most. He realised that the car was wet. All of it, some water was still dripping. Steve realised at that moment that his parents had been home when it had been raining. That they’d been home when the other parents had received the call. They’d been home for _hours_ and they hadn’t bothered. He thought of going over to Robin’s. They’d probably let him stay, with their concern and pity following him around. But Steve thought of how they had their own problems to deal with. They had better shit to do than look after a kid with made up problems. 

He tried the doorbell, but there was no sound. It had been switched off. He then retrieved the spare key he’d secretly made last year from under the rock (they hadn’t even bothered to keep the door unlocked, just in case). He opened the door and walked in.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment for this comment-starved writer. Thanks:)


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